


Justified Trust

by WichitaRed



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 04:53:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1253596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WichitaRed/pseuds/WichitaRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple errand runs afoul for two Devil's Hole Gang Members and Heyes is forced to decide if a member is worth saving or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Justified Trust

The herd milled across the field slowly as they nuzzled the grass chewing down choice bits. From the left flank, Curry sat watching the sorrels and bays as they gently bumped against one another. 

“Fine looking group,” the lean, blonde man said, sitting on his horse alongside Curry, also watching the grazing herd of horses. 

“That they are, Henry,” replied Kid Curry, second-in-command of the Devil’s Hole Gang. “Think I’m gonna try out that dark bay with the snip on its nose first.”

“He looks strong,” Henry Jenkins said, rolling a quirley. “Not as strong as the red Appy, Heyes wouldn’t budge on.”

“I saw you took a fancy to that big Appaloosa.”

“Yeah, I did,” Henry, grinned self-consciously, slipping the quirley into the corner of his mouth to dig out a match. “Always did hanker to ride a good-looking horse.”

“One that catches a man’s eye?”

Henry nodded, dipping his head down to the flaming match; he inhaled, puffing out blue smoke. 

“That’s the reason he wouldn’t purchase the Appy.”

Henry looked up, quirking an eyebrow up at his fellow gang member, Kid Curry, who also happened to be the fastest gun in the West. 

“You’re an outlaw, Henry. Why would you want a horse a man would remember?”

Henry blew out a large smoke ring, indifferently watching it drift away in the still Wyoming air. “Guess I never thought of it that way,” he finally said, tapping his ash off in his hand then blowing the cool, gray dust away. “Humpf, suppose if’n I was on my own, I’d be dead or in jail by now. Good thing, I got Heyes and you to watch over my careless ways.”

Kid chuckled, “Not sure you’d be as bad off as you’re saying, but, one of the benefits of being part of the Devil’s Hole gang, is you’ve got Hannibal Heyes to figure out details for you.” 

“Is that why you stay?”

“No.” Kid’s crisp blue eyes stayed on Hannibal Heyes where he rode along the right flank. “We’ve been pals a long-time. Where Heyes goes, I go.”

“There is something to be said for having a good pal. Someone who’ll watch your back in this here filthy world, kind of keep the scales balanced for you.”

“I’m of the same opinion,” Kid said, as a wink of light flashed in Heyes’ hand. Having seen this same glint hundreds of times over the years, Curry knew his pal was checking the time on his beat-up silver pocket watch. Seeing him do this, he looked at the length of his and Henry’s shadows, and frowned. “Wonder what’s keeping Kyle and Wheat?”  
Pinching the ember from his used up smoke, Henry stated, “Heyes will be nominating someone to go find them soon, I suppose.”

Kid nodded and turned to look back toward the town of Haven, barely visible on the horizon. “Maybe not, rider coming, Henry, stay close to the herd,” he said, kicking up his horse to trot over to his partner, the leader of the Devil’s Hole Gang, one of the most notorious gang of outlaws in the West. Their notoriety was, for the most part, due to the cleverness of their young leader; Kid’s cousin, Hannibal Heyes. 

Pulling in beside his cousin, Curry said, “Rider.”

“Yup,” Heyes answered, “problem is there’s only one.”

“Think we got trouble?”

“With one rider,” Heyes looked over, played out a wide, dimpled grin, and then hissed his mare into a run, hollering, “most definitely.”

Within a few strides, Kid better understood for he could see the unknown rider, was one of their overdue gang members.

“Howdy, Heyes,” Kyle chirped, as his leader whoa’ed, circling around him, with his partner by his side. “Good to see you, Kid.” 

“You go the supplies,” Heyes stated, parking next to Kyle. “Where’s Wheat?”

“Better yet, how about you tell us what Wheat did?” Kid asked, his expression looking a cold as a hunched over gargoyle. 

“All he did was got himself a drink,” Kyle answered.

“In a dry county?” Heyes’ dark-eyes flicked to his partner. “Where did he get a drink?”

“Well, it’s like this . . . you see, there was this feller selling bottles, out behind the land assayer’s office.”

“Bottles you say.” Heyes tipped his hat back. “Wheat bought only one, I hope.”

“Yup, just one,” Kyle nodded enthusiastically. “He offered to share it but it were spicy. I don’t like spicy whiskey. But that don’t never bother Wheat.”

Kid could feel the steady pulse of his temper beginning to rise. “Kyle, why didn’t you stop him?”

“How was I supposed to do that?”

“You’re his partner; I’d think you’d know the answer better than me.” Kid replied harshly.

Kyle looked down at his reins, “Ah come on, Kid, he don’t listen to me none.”

“Where is he?” Heyes asked.

Kyle fumbled in his jacket pocket and brought out a plug of chaw and fell to unwrapping it. 

“Kyle?!” Heyes said, sharper.

“He’s in jail,” Kyle answered quickly, taking a large bite of chaw, rolling it in his jaws, and, chewing mightily on it. 

“Jail!?” Kid and Heyes barked in unison. 

“I send you yahoos into town, for a simple task of purchasing road supplies, and, Wheat lands himself in jail,” Heyes said, looking darkly enough at Kyle that the little outlaw actually backed his horse up a couple of steps. 

“He does what he wants, Heyes. I can’t tell him otherwise,” Kyle muttered around the wad filling his mouth. 

“Damnation!” growled Heyes. Throwing a leg over his saddle horn, he leapt down and, with his horse in tow, began pacing, up and down, in the tall grass.

Curry’s cornflower blue eyes shifted to the town, to the herd, to his pacing partner and, by the time they circled back to Kyle, they were as dark as a summer storm. 

Seeing them, Kyle paled, just a little, “Kid, I told ’em it t’weren’t a good ideer, really I did.”

“Fine! Then, I say we leave him.”

“That ain’t gonna happen,” Heyes replied. “You know I won’t leave a member of the Devil’s Hole behind.”

Kyle beamed a juicy, brown smile, his eyes glowing like those of an adoring pup, “I knew you wouldn’t, Heyes.”

“Although, with him distinctly ignoring my orders, yet again,” Heyes said, stopping his pacing to look up at Kyle, “I should.”

“Why is he in jail?” Kid asked. “For drinking?”

“Sort of,” Seeing he was still holding his chaw plug, Kyle tucked it back in his jacket. “After finishing off the bottle, he was acting kind of loony. I don’t rightly think that whiskey were good stuff.”

“Well, hell no, it wasn’t.” Heyes snorted. “He bought it in the back alley of a dry county, probably the lowest form of rotgut.”

“Lucky he didn’t drop dead.” Kid shook his head. “Only God, and its maker, knows how much turpentine, cayenne, tobacco, and rattlesnake venom was in it.”

“It did taste powerfully bad.” 

“And, Wheat went right ahead and drank it,” affirmed Heyes, taking his hat off, to scratch at his scalp. “Then what happened?”

“Like I said, it made him act squirrely and--”

“Uppity.” Kid snapped over Kyle’s soft-southern twang.

“Yeah, deeper he got in that bottle,” Kyle nodded, “more he acted like, he were tough enough to go after a cougar with a willow switch.” 

Dropping his hat back on, Heyes began straightening its stampede strings and, when he heard, no more from Kyle, said, “Go on,” without bothering to look up. 

“Wheat got a notion he wanted some fancy company. I told him, a dry town weren’t likely to have no such sort of company. Told him, we’d been sent for supplies and, since we had ‘em, we ought to head on out of town. ‘Cept we heard female giggles when we were ridin’ past this park.”

Heyes closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose; sure of what Kyle was going to say next. 

“So, Wheat, he pulls up right quick, and was off his horse before I even saw ‘em. I told him, going over where all them people were t’weren’t a good ideer. You know how Wheat can get.”

“We do,” Kid, answered. 

“Which means he ignored you,” Heyes said, leaning against his horse’s shoulder to watch the grazing herd. 

“Well, he waded into the big, old gathering bellowing, -Where’s all the pretty, painted dancing gals?”

“What was going on in the park, Kyle?” Heyes asked, still watching the horses.

“An ice cream social,” Kyle smiled.

“Oh no,” Kid groaned.

“Them people sure didn’t take kindly to Wheat, ‘specially since he grabbed a lady in a big, flower hat and hollered at the gents on the bandstand to fire up some music. Well, that lady she went to screaming and the men they grabbed hold of Wheat and drug him off to jail. I heard one of ‘em says they ought to throw away the key, too. Got me to thinking, maybe I ought to ride on before they got mad at me, me being a stranger and all. 

Bowing his head, Heyes a rubbed at his face and, in short order, a steady flow of laughter could be heard coming from him. 

“You think this is funny?” Kid asked. 

“Oh, I do.” Heyes looked up, wiping at his eyes. “How can you not find it funny, Kid? Can’t you see them uptight, tea-totaling townsfolks’ faces when Wheat strolled in yelling for painted ladies?”

Kyle grinned, “They kind of looked like, a bucket of winter well-water’d been dumped on ‘em.”

“Bet they did.” Heyes sighed, “…Ah Wheat,” and swung back aboard his horse. “Kid, you, Henry, and Merkle get the horses moving toward the Hole. Push ‘em, if you can, Kyle and I will got retrieve Wheat.

“What are you going to do? Post bail?” Kid asked, resting his forearms across this saddle horn. 

“No, I don’t think they’d take it. Go on and swap for Wheat’s horse, Kid, yours is faster and we may need speed when we’re heading out. Leastways, all the supplies are on his mare, so you and the boys will have them.” said Heyes. 

“You know I don’t like that mare, she’s a real bitch.”

“Fine, turn her into the herd and pull out the bay you wanted so bad.”

 

* * * * * * * * * *

Riding into Haven, Kyle and Heyes saw the social had resumed. To avoid attention, they skirted along the backside of the town. A very short search later, they had found the Marshal’s office. Dismounting in the alley, Heyes looked at Kyle’s rundown clothing caked in trail dust, and said, “think it might be best if you wait here.” Pulling his pocket watch, he handed it to Kyle, “if I’m not out in thirty minutes, leave two horses, and go fetch Kid.”

Kyle nodded, “but, Heyes, I don’t know how to read a clock.”

A soft, look of amusement crept across Heyes face and, dropping an arm about Kyle’s shoulders, he clicked the watch open, “It’s currently…,” from the corner of his eye, he saw Kyle frown, “right now, it’s, twenty after the hour. Now when that long hand touches the ten, it’ll be thirty minutes and it’s time for you to ride out.”

“Why, that sure is easy enough.”

“Sure is.” Heyes flashed him a smile and slapped him on the back creating a small cloud of dust.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m making this up as I go along.”

“Really?” Kyle stared at him amazed. “I thought you always had a plan, Heyes.”

“Sometimes, I gotta think them up, kind of last minute.”

“Whoo wee, that must be why you’re such a good leader,” Kyle shook his head, “I can’t never think nothing up real quick-like.”  
Heyes smiled, real big, and then strode purposely around the building, stepping onto the boardwalk with all the confidence of a man who fully believes in himself. 

At the door to the Marshal’s office, he grabbed the knob and found it locked. His brows furrowed and he rapped loudly. There was no response. Knocking again, he leaned in to listen but all that reached his ears was the band playing back at the park. A smile blossomed as he wondered how he could be this fortunate. Pulling his lock-picks, from the inside pocket of his coat; he slipped two in the keyhole flicking the slide-lock mechanism out of the way. Cautiously opening the door, he found only an empty office, “And to think, Kid’s most likely worrying himself sick over me getting in trouble.” 

Returning to the corner of the building, he whisper, “Kyle.”

The little, bandy-legged outlaw came rushing up, “Long hand’s only on the five, Heyes.”

“Change of plan, stand guard, the office is as empty as the safes we leave behind.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Heyes winked, holding his hand for his watch. “Guess they figured once he was locked up, Wheat wouldn’t be going nowhere.”

Inside, Heyes glanced around; potbelly stove, brand new desk, several chairs, and a notice wall with several Devil’s Hole members prominently displayed around his and Kid’s posters. Below the board was a racked row of carbines and pistols with a chain running through their trigger guards. All of the m held in place by a padlock, which was so new it still shone with packing grease. “Too easy,” Heyes gloated, putting his picks to work once more, in moments, he pulled Wheat’s Remington from the chain along with a brand-new Colt Peacemaker. Shoving the Remington in his front waistband, the placed the Colt along his spine, and returned the lock. 

Opening one of the two doors in the room, he found he was correct in supposing it led to the cells. In the first cage was Haven’s only prisoner, snoring loudly with his boots and hat laying in a hodgepodge on the floor. 

Sliding his tension wrench into this third lock, he applied a bit of torque to the cylinder checking which direction it turned, and then holding the cylinder in place, he inserted a second pick. His dance with the pins took no time at all and he was turning the cylinder all the way. Smiling smugly, he re-hid his picks, and swinging the gate inwards, stepped inside. 

Spying a water bucket and dipper by the bunk, he took it up, his smile enlarging until his eyes creased nearly closed. Without any wasted movement, he overturned the pail into Wheat’s loud-mouthed, snoring face.

The brawny outlaw came off the bunk like a spooked barn cat sputtering, shaking droplets of water even as his fists came up ready for a fight. That is until; he saw the man standing before him was none other than his leader, Hannibal Heyes.

“Have a good nap?”

“Uh, Heyes, this ain’t what it looks like.”

“So tell me, what does it look like?”

“Well, you see,” Wheat hitched up his pants, “It’s this way…”

“Save it,” Heyes grunted and reached outside the cell, grabbing Wheat’s holster from a wall hook, flinging it to the man he considered his lieutenant. “Get dressed.”

Buckling on the holster, Wheat stumbled into his boots, “Sure am glad to see you.”

“Figured you would be.”

“Gotta say, I ain’t feelin’ so good.”

“Bet you aren’t,” Heyes shook his head. “Much as you brag on your brilliance, I would have thought you were smart enough to not drink bootleg backroom brew.”

“I was thirsty.”

“Ever hear of water?” Heyes asked, crossing his feet to lean in the doorframe of the cage. 

“I was damned thirsty.”

“An idiot’s thirst if you ask me.” 

“Well, I ain’t askin’,” Wheat mumbled under his breath.

“You think I appreciate you not following orders?”

“We followed ‘em. We got the supplies, didn’t we?”

“Kyle did,” Heyes voice dropped, becoming husky, “you stirred up unnecessary trouble.”

“Not my fault they ain’t got a saloon.”

“You knew that riding in. Besides, there being no saloon ain’t the point. You endangered all of us with your selfish clowning around.”

Looking down, Wheat, rubbed the back of his neck and, looking up, walked toward the gate Heyes was casually filling. 

But instead of moving, Heyes straightened, fully blocking the way. 

Cranking his head to the side, Wheat grumbled, “We leavin’ or not?”

“Maybe,” Heyes stated, pulling the Remington nonchalantly and, just as offhandedly, he held the pistol before him.   
“What the hell, Heyes?” Wheat waved at his own gun, his gray eyes filled with haunted suspicion. 

“Way I figure it, Wheat, I’m the leader.”

“We all know that.”

“Do we?” One corner of Heyes’ mouth curled up into what might be considered more a snarl than a smile. 

“Yeah, everyone knows you’re the leader.”

“Then the next time, I give you a directive, and every time afterwards, I want to see you follow it to the letter.”

“A what?” Wheat asked, crossing his arms. 

“An order.”

Wheat frowned deeply, puffing up like a tom turkey.

“Have it your way,” Heyes said, stepping back, pulling the cage door closed. “I came for you, because, you’re a member of my gang. You feel you don’t want to follow me then I’ll just leave you here.”

“Hold on.” Wheat rushed forward, but the Remington’s barrel came up, and he flew backwards just as quickly. “Hey, that ain’t fair!”

“Fair?” Heyes laughed bitterly, “This world ain’t about fair.”

Wheat rubbed one hand across his thick mustache trying to get a bead on what he was hearing. 

“You know, Wheat, I don’t mind your blustering. I don’t mind you believing you can lead the boys better than me. I don’t even mind you speaking over me when you should be keeping your mouth shut. I do mind you choosing to do exactly what you want, especially when it puts anyone else in our merry band in jeopardy.” Heyes leaned against the closed gate. “If I let you out, we’ll leave all this business behind us, with only the two of us knowing what’s been said. Thing is, I gotta know I don’t have to worry about you laying me and the boys on the line again.” 

“Heyes--”

The Remington barrel waggled menacingly, “I also gotta know, I can trust you.”

Wheat sighed and his whole stature deflated. “You can trust me.” 

“How do I know, I can trust you?” Heyes tipped his hat back. “How do I know, you won’t be waiting for the right time to shoot me in the back just so you can take over?”

“You can trust me.” Wheat looked around, “Since it’s only you and me here . . .,” he wiped a hand across his mustache again, “you been doin’ a damned fine job as leader. Wasn’t so sure at first, but, you’ve really proved yourself these past nine months. I even was thinking you’re doin’ a better job than Big Jim.”

“Well, that sounds like a right polite way to butter me up, Carlson. But,--”

“But, nothin’, you’re a good leader, Heyes.” Wheat looked him in the eyes, “Just rubs me wrong, how the boys all turn to you; I’m older than you and been at the Hole longer, too. Still, like I said, you’ve really been provin’ yourself; making us all looks good. Makes me proud to say I ride with you and the Kid. I don’t know what else I can rightly say for you to know you can trust me. Except. . .” he looked around again, digging for the right words, “except, I consider you and the Kid my pals and a man don’t ever turn on a pal, it’s against the code.”

“Code?”

“Yeah, the Code of the West, they write about it, in them novels we got at the bunkhouse.”

Heyes nodded, picturing the rumpled pile of yellow dime store pulps, the boys traded among themselves and smiled; pushing the gate open, he handed Wheat’s Remington toward him, butt first. 

A smile large enough to reveal Wheat’s teeth behind his shaggy mustache, yet, as he reached for his gun. Heyes flicked his wrist; twirling the pistol so the butt landed back in his hand, his thumb already on the hammer. 

Wheat turned seven shades of gray, his eyes rolling, as he froze inches from the huge-looking barrel of the .44 aimed at his throat. 

“This’ll be the only time we ever have this conversation, Wheat. I may be young, but I learned early on, if you can’t trust a man then it’s time to move him out of your way. Do we understand each other?”

“Like Kyle understands dynamite,” Wheat gulped out. 

The Remy, flipped again in Heyes’ hand, its butt once more facing Wheat, “Then welcome back into the Devil’s Hole Gang, Wheat Carlson. Let’s head home.”

Warily taking his gun, Wheat dropped it back in its holster. “Sure glad I’m on your side.”

“I’m glad you’re on my side, too.” Heyes chortled, clapping the older man on the back as he exited the cage. “When you set your mind to it, you’re one hell of an outlaw, even when you’re dancing at a church social.” 

“They told me it was an ice cream social.”

“Same thing,” Heyes replied in between his laughter. The two men slipped out the door and pulled it closed behind them. 

Seeing them, Kyle yelped, “Hey, Wheat,” waving happily at his buddy, “I were getting nervous out here.” Three horses waited for the outlaws at the hitching rail. 

“Sorry ‘bout that, Kyle, the Marshal’s clever, even if he ain’t smart enough to leave behind a deputy, we still had to search around a bit to find Wheat’s pistol,” piped up Heyes before Wheat could speak. 

“Well, I guess that makes sense.”

“Also, picked up this shiny bit of jewelry for Kid,” Heyes went on in his smooth overriding baritone, pulling the nickel-plated, pearl-handled Colt from behind his back, showing it off with two road agent spins before tucking it away in his saddlebag.

“Whoo wee, the Kid’s gonna like that.” Kyle yelled, not noticing the look Wheat and Heyes shared. 

As a trio, they swung into their saddles, Wheat smiling to beat the devil, feeling his friendship with Heyes growing. The man hadn’t even let on to Kyle what they’d been discussing. 

Skirting back down the alleys, Kyle looked over at Wheat a couple of times before asking, “Why you smiling so big anyhows?”

“Why not? Don’t know any other gang, who has a leader who’ll come get a guy out of jail.”

Kyle started grinning too, “Yup.” He look over at the dark, young man riding beside him, “Heyes, ya go to be the beatingest leader anywheres. Ya make sure we’s all safe, we’s got money in our pockets, and ya’ll even come rescue us too. Hell, ya even bring us gifts.” 

Heyes pulled his hat down, so it covered a good deal of his face in dark shadow, and nodded. 

“Gifts?” Wheat asked.

“All them winter coats, he picked up for use when he and Preacher went for supplies in October.”

Wheat nodded, “Yup, the bestest leader anywheres.”

Having reached the edge of the town and not able take any more of the jack-happy back slapping, Heyes looked over at the pair of them, shook his head, and laid reins to his horse’s rump, sending the animal into a flat-out run. 

“Did you see the grin on his face?” Kyle asked.

“Yup,” Wheat replied, kicking the gelding into a run thinking, “Yup, that boy is one hell of a leader, alright.”


End file.
